


Life’s (Waiting for) a Joke

by atsuyuri_sama



Category: Tangled (2010)
Genre: Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hopeful Ending, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Recovery, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atsuyuri_sama/pseuds/atsuyuri_sama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘I love you’ is only a band-aide, and Mother Gothel has ensured the joke’s always on Rapunzel. A lifetime of discouragement leaves deeper wounds than any band-aide can handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life’s (Waiting for) a Joke

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and shout-out goes to [shapeshifter-ari](http://shapeshifter-ari.tumblr.com/) on tumblr (AKA [Lucid-Dreamer-Emerald](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixPrimaPriestess/pseuds/Lucid-Dreamer-Emerald), here on AO3), for being my beta and cheerleader. You’re awesome!

Mother Gothel had – upon reflection – said _I’m just kidding_ even more frequently than she’d ever said _I love you._ They’d both been powerful phrases.

**-L(W)J-**

Pascal was safe.

He said _I love you_ only with his actions. He was a simple creature; jokes and sarcasm and word-play usually went right over his head, and overt displays of affection wasn’t something that he had language to express.

Sometimes, he might understand when Rapunzel used a small idiom, but it was utterly beyond him to _use_ them. For him, what a person did went far longer than what a person said. That was the way with animals. Maximus was, for the exact same reasons, just as safe. They never dangled something in her face, only to take it back. They never offered anything they didn’t mean.

(They were too safe to find comfort in, when things got bad, though, for this same reason. A creature who _can’t_ be back-handed doesn’t have the know-how to _stop_ those who can.)

**-L(W)J-**

Rapunzel might be naïve, but she wasn’t _stupid._

Flynn Rider, almost from the instant they met, tried using his words to back her into a corner.

He tried to convince her that she was hurting Mother Gothel, so that she’d go back… so that he wouldn’t be bound to his side of their deal. He tried to tell her that she wasn’t ready for the world, and backed that up by literally walking her into a den of thieves and conmen, so that he would be able to say _I told you so_. She watched as he wasted his breath trying to explain his way out of trouble (before a dam fell on them), and it was only for his own sake.

He never said _I love you._ He never said _I was just messing with you._

He told her she was beautiful. He praised her use of a frying pan with a wide, genuine grin. He watched her make a fool of herself, and didn’t hold her sheltered life against her for it, letting her be herself. He praised her quick thinking, and her skill. He never took any of it back, and seemed to fancy himself a gentleman just because he tried sincerity.

But…. He could twist his words one minute, and be honest the next, and she was supposed to know which to believe at any one minute. He might as well have never complimented her, given that she was so busy trying to see how _these_ words could be worked in his favor, like the rest.

(Eugene, on the other hand, was… different. But he was still an unknown.)

**-L(W)J-**

The highwaymen they met in the Snuggly Duckling were… nice, as far as such things went.

They weren’t honest, but they didn’t lie about not being honest. They were ambitious and careful, when she caught them in the right mood, and when she distracted them with the right things. They were loyal to a fault, and many had emotions that ran deep and unfathomable. They didn’t claim to be what they weren’t.

But they, too, took what they said, and used what she knew of those words, to mislead.

They nearly pulled Flynn apart, when their call for the soldiers was belayed by their acts of vengeance and violence before said lawmen could arrive. They didn’t hurt Rapunzel, but before she was able to touch their hearts and minds with something else, it was clear that – given incentive – they would have. They called her sweet and seemed to like her, but their first impression left something to be desired.

They were nice. They were ambitious, and straightforward (mostly). They had the potential to be good citizens, if given the chance and resources. They knew how to save a lady, and compliment her, and – given familiar ground – to protect her. But they were still dangerous, and everyone who saw them knew it.

They never said _I love you._ And they wouldn’t be the kind of guys to say _I was just ribbing you._

But they still played with what they said and did, and how it all sounded.

**-L(W)J-**

When she got to the castle – after Mo— _Gothel_ was… buried, after Fl— _Eugene_ was revived – things changed again.

The qu— _her **real** mother_ took one look at her, and broke down. The first words Rapunzel heard her sob, quietly, in Rapunzel’s ear, was, “Oh, my precious baby! I love you! You’re here, you’re here!”

(It was just words; they couldn’t hurt her, and didn’t mean that much anyway, Rapunzel told herself, desperately. Gothel had said them often enough without anything… bad happening, exactly.)

The K— _her father_ was a tall, unusual warmth at her back. He cried, too, but said nothing. The words came later that night, in the royal couple’s private rooms, they on one couch and she curled on another. It was less an exchange, and more them simply encouraging her to speak about herself, her likes and dislikes, and her life.

(She’d been raised by Gothel. She’d loved Gothel. And her life – aside from being forbidden to leave – hadn’t really been all that bad. She’d lived a… good life. She _had._ She couldn’t bring herself to tell them everything, even so.)

She told them about dreaming and painting, about candles and sewing and watching the stars. She waxed poetic about baking and endless sunsets, and the quiet nights in front of the fire with a filling hazelnut soup. She babbled about all the stories she’d read and all the history she knew, and the pride and excitement of the first time Gothel felt she was mature enough to spend the night alone.

It lasted hours, and she went mostly hoarse. It was worth it for the looks on their faces (for the fact that she sat in front of them to _have_ faces for and about her). They praised her bravery (what bravery? She’d just been living the circumstances she’d found herself in), and called her their spitting image, with a mature, royal countenance (was she… really fit to rule an entire people?).

Her father leaned over, kissed her on the cheek, and said, “I love you, my only daughter-dearest.”

The maid came and led her away. The woman didn’t know her well enough to spot the uncertainty and consternation on her face.

**-L(W)J-**

A month after the party declaring her to the kingdom, she stood on the balcony of the castle, tall and (playing at) confident, to address the people which would one day be hers.

She smiled at them, and praised them their hard work and loyalty. She promised stability and prosperity under her eventual rule. She swore herself to aiding their good fortunes, and gave her word to learn to be the best ruler she could be for them.

They broke into loud, raucous cheers when she waved a farewell – it was far louder than her entrance had garnered. They cried praises to her name, and lifted up her promises, like what she’d said was something precious, and not just the things any decent person would try to do when in charge of so many dependents. They treated her like her bloodline deserved (and not like _she_ deserved; she was _just_ Rapunzel).

The waving, shifting mass of adoring people shouted, nearly in unison, at her retreating back, “ _We love Princess Rapunzel!_ ”

Her heart stuttered, and it took all of the balance she’d learned with a head of literal pounds of hair to hide the way she staggered in growing discomfort.

**-L(W)J-**

Eugene was the one to find her, curled in on herself on the eaves above her bedroom window. It was going on nearly seven months since the… incident with Gothel, and her nerves were finally rubbed too raw to ignore.

She had heard her mother calling for her, and noted the growing concern, the longer she didn’t answer. It hurt to make another person so worried. But she’d ignored it, ultimately unable to face the woman who would-have, could-have, should-have taken Gothel’s place. When was the other shoe going to drop?! When was it all going to come crashing down?! It was all too nice and neat and it was _wrong!_

Apparently, her parents trusted a former thief and conman more than they’d initially appeared to – in the beginning, they’d accepted her friendship, but she’d seen less and less of him as time went on. She missed him; he was a stable point, one of the very few common links between her old and new lives. She had vaguely recognized a slow downward spiral in her mood without him, and helplessly watched most of her control crumble to this point, here and now, so fast. Given that Eugene was there, pulling himself up onto the roof tiles beside her, her parents had noticed it, too.

She was as weak as Mother said. She was dependent and clingy. He probably hated coming up here after her. Mother always hated having to pull her out of her moods.

“Hey, Goldie,” he hummed, not looking at her. “Wanna tell me what this is about?”

“… when are they going to say what they mean, Eugene?”

“Come again?”

“Why are you here? Don’t you have something else to do, besides watch me wait? Surely I’m not worth your time.”

Calloused fingers gently turned her face, and she met vividly-concerned eyes. Everything about the man beside her screamed caution and uncertainty. She watched his eyes flicker between her, and the five-story drop below her window, and he swallowed.

“Rapunzel?” his voice was soft, and it trembled faintly. She felt bad for scaring him; she’d never even considered jumping to be an option. She just liked being up high. It reminded her of the tower (of home, and it was still the place her heart called home, even if her mind was learning differently). “What do you mean? What waiting are you doing?”

It took her long minutes to put her thoughts into some kind of order. It had become clear, after a time, that she didn’t exactly think like all the people around her. It was understandable: life with Mother was _very_ different, so it followed that she would think differently. But it was still hard, sometimes (when the queen winced, or the king frowned, or Eugene blinked startled eyes, and she knew that, somehow, she’d said or done the wrong thing _again…_!).

“Everyone is so nice. The nicer something is, the more it hurts when it’s taken away, Eugene. And nice things aren’t taken away only when there are even _better_ nice things, because _those_ get taken instead. People are saying I’m pretty, and talented, and sweet. People are saying… they _love_ me, Eugene. Love isn’t something you just _give_ to someone you don’t even _know!_ Why give such a precious thing to _me?_ I’m scared, because I don’t know what I want more than… than what I’ve been given! So what is going to be taken away, and when?

“Is Mother going to jump out of the bushes: _Just kidding, Rapunzel. All of this was a joke. It wasn’t real – come back to Mother, now?_ Am I just going to wake up? Are the king and queen going to come to their senses and realize I’m too awkward-frumpy-childish to be their amazing, fairy-tale daughter?! How does someone brace for that kind of thing?” Rapunzel couldn’t suppress a sob, and was ashamed, but couldn’t stop talking, all the same. “When is someone finally going to say _I’m joking_ and get the hard part over with, already?!”

Eugene scooted closer, folding her hands up in his own, and insisted, “But you _are_ pretty, Rapunzel! You _are_ talented, and sweet, too! We… We _do_ love you, and with good reason: You’re a good person.”

“ _Mother_ was the gorgeous one. She taught me _everything_ I know, and could always do it _better_. She was kind enough that she _raised me,_ all alone, and didn’t ask for anything from me. And even if I loved her _more_ , she always loved me _most_. ”

Eugene shook his head, bewilderment clear on his face. “This… isn’t a competition, Goldie. Gothel only raised you for your hair. And your songs made her young and beautiful, yes, but in a false way. She took her looks and grace by magic – _your_ magic – and you grew into yours honestly. Of course she never out-right asked you for anything: She raised you to _give it to her_ without thinking about it! You sang for her, and trusted her, because she asked you to, and you never knew better! But there’s more to you than she ever explained. She never wanted you to see it, because she _never wanted you to leave._ ”

“B-but--!”

“Fine: hear me out on this, then. Love isn’t who’s good-better-best at it, Rapunzel. It just is, unconditionally. If I said… If I said _I_ love you, for example, not even I could take that away from you, or hold it ag—hey! Hey, whoa, no, bad idea!”

She’d leaned back in shock when he’d declared himself; she’d just about thrown herself clear of the roof. Only Eugene’s expert reflexes and thief-training caught her, and pinned her safely to his chest. She clutched him back with knuckles that turned white around his forearms. She didn’t want to fall. The rise-and-fall of his chest against her back soothed her, for a beat, even startled as it was. And then everything caught up to her. She flailed, ineffectually, heart racing and gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

He shushed, and murmured soft nothingness in her ear. He rocked gently, angling them towards the wider expanse of the roof, instead of the nearby drop-off. He let her freak out, lungs and heart straining, ears ringing, mind whirling… and then painstakingly pulled her back to a place where she could once more hear and understand him.

The sun had gone down by the time that happened. Shame filled her, deeper than before.

“What do you think is going to happen?” he murmured in her ear, a quiet urgency in his voice. She’d _really_ scared him, then. “What used to happen that makes this scary? Tell me?”

“‘Do you see what I see, in the mirror, Rapunzel? A stunning young woman. Oh—and you, too, of course. I kid, I kid, don’t take it so hard! I love you; that’s what matters.’”

Her recitation was off; she was too flat-voiced to match Mother Gothel’s razor sarcasm.

“‘Oh, doing what you do every day – it must be exhausting, darling! How do you do it? Oh: It’s nothing? Then, goodness, I don’t know why it takes so long! Oh, I’m just joking! You know I love you – your safety here means more than I can say.’”

“‘Of course you can leave the tower. But you’re so scruffy, and undignified, and clumsy! Who would want you, how in the world could a waif like you survive out there? It’s called teasing, Rapunzel – _I_ love you just as you are, anyway!’”

Eugene’s grip had loosened, and his breath hitched; he was frozen with some unnamed emotion behind her.

“‘That song was amazing, wasn’t it? Except your parts, but we can work on those. Haha, it’s just too easy to kid you, isn’t it, my little flower? I do love you, and you will do what makes you happy, regardless of skill, I suppose!’”

“‘You are, of course, allowed to decorate as you please, Rapunzel. But is this disorder on the walls really worth anything? I’m teasing you, dear: I love you, even when you make messes like these.’”

“‘At the rate you’re going, I’ll have to find you new books. But it wouldn’t much matter, would it – new books only really work if you understand what you’re reading. But I do so love you, my flower, and your attempts to act like me are appreciated.’”

Eugene made a noise like someone punched him, air wheezing through his lungs and over her head. He finally yelped, breaking through the babble in her head, “Ra-Rapunzel! Please, enough, it’s okay now!”

He sounded raw, and she felt empty. She sounded empty, too, when she explained, “ _I love you_ never comes for free, Eugene. It never has, and it only comes when you’ve done something right – like notice when she needs the song before she asks for it – or after she’s taken away something else first. I’m not anything you say I am. I can’t be, because she never said I was and _meant_ it, and Mother never lied to me.”

“Never?! She trapped you in that tower, Rapunzel!”

She knew better, though.

“She did it to keep my safe from the greedy people in the world who would’ve used me. There were, and some did, before she took me back. To hide me from illness and injury. You and I both got hurt just getting here the first time, and I know that you _and_ f… father… just got over bouts of hay fever. To stop me from making a fool of myself. You can’t say our meeting in the Snuggly Duckling wasn’t ‘making a fool of myself’; I know what’s expected of people like me better now, and cavorting and singing with criminals is _not it._

“She may have not… told me everything. But she didn’t lie to me. _I love you_ always means something bad is coming soon, or has come at last. Feeling… feeling this _good_ …. It’s dangerous, and doesn’t _last,_ Eugene. You just get torn down when it turns out not to be true, and it hurts worse after believing for just that little while than not believing at all would’ve. She taught me that!”

His arms tightened around her again, an embrace instead of a hold, this time. He was going to be stubborn, she could tell. She flinched, expecting the worst, when he prodded, so gently, “Rapunzel, what did she tell you to call her?”

“T-tell me?” Her stutter was high-pitched, her nerves singing with panic. She couldn’t decide whether to, in this moment, hate him or trust him. “She never told me to call her anything.”

She could almost feel his disappointed stare on the back of her head. That hurt just about as bad as she was expecting. She was a disappointment after all, and this was only proving Mother’s point. Eugene was going to leave, any minute now. Mother was the only one who could put up with her…. And, even then, there was a _reason_ Mother’d found the white shells that made the good paint, three days away. She punished Rapunzel with solitude for her own good.

“Semantics, Goldie!” Eugene broke through her thoughts. He was firm, but not yet done with her. “What did she _raise you_ to call her? Who is she in your head? When you talk about her, here and now, what do you have to stop yourself from calling her… if you even _remember_ to stop in the first place?”

Rapunzel began to shiver, shaking her head. He was asking her to give voice to how much of a disappoint she was, because she knew what her answer meant to this conversation.

“Come on, Rapunzel. It’s going to be okay. Just say it – that one thing. That’s all I ask.”

The encouragement in his voice was painful. A high, distressed whine was his answer. He sighed, and pressed his forehead against her shoulder in commiseration. But he didn’t let her go, and he didn’t invite, or let her make, a new conversation topic. He just waited, and that was worse (though it would have been _even_ worse if he’d insisted on eye contact).

“M-mother,” she gasped. “I call— _called_ her… mother.”

“Mm-hm,” he agreed, voice gentle. She was going numb, waiting and waiting without anything happening to make him finally see the truth about her. “But she wasn’t, was she? She didn’t give birth to you. She may have been there while you were growing up, but she didn’t _raise_ you – not the way I know you’ve seen out in the city. You watch the children and their parents way too closely when you think we’re not being watched, ourselves, not to have noticed the difference between being _called_ a parent and actually _being_ a parent. She lied to you, Goldie.”

“I-I get it, okay? So stop! Just s-stop, pl-please, Eugene!”

He twisted her around, finally, so she could cry into his shirt. On the roof, in the dropping nighttime temperatures, he cradled her closely and didn’t move away. When her head grew too stuffed and tight to cry anymore, and a headache began to throb in place of her tears, he lightly massaged her knotted neck and shoulders, easing some of the tension.

Without a word, he led her back through the motions of returning through her window. Silently, he tucked her into a corner of her couch, bundling blankets around her shivering form and building up the embers in the grate into a proper fire. Without her input, he went to the door, spoke quietly with one of the wait-staff (she could hear her name, so she stopped listening, not wanting to hear the moment he gave up and left), before (amazingly) closing the door _while still inside,_ and _returning_ to her.

Against the crackling warmth, he slowly admitted, “It’s hard – it’s really, _really_ hard – to throw stuff like that off, to bleed that poison away. The things you’re taught as a kid, by people you’re supposed to trust, is always the deepest-rooted. I know that: The orphanage, well…. Sometimes, through the years, it wasn’t the best place to be. Every one of us kids came out of there more than a little messed up, I think – not just ‘Flynn Rider’-level messed up, either.”

A large, warm hand laced with her own. He smiled crookedly at her, and muted empathy and pride shined in his eyes, when she didn’t pull away. “You’ll get there. And if you want, I’ll be here to help. _I love you_ doesn’t have to be a prison-sentence. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now. I _do._ But you’ll make it. I promise.”

“You… think I’m… strong enough?”

“’Course I do, beautiful.”

“Eugene,” she sighed. When he _got_ that she wasn’t who he thought she was _,_ he was going to regret letting her into his life, and so was she.

“Too soon?”

She glowered at him. It was only his blooming grin – still rather subdued – that made his point. He _knew_ it was too soon, the stupid man; his face said he did! But…

But it would _always_ be too soon. The way things were going, she was just going to crumple under the pressure one day, if what she feared didn’t (or did, depending on perspective) come true. He was saying she would just have to fight it. Fight back the ghost of Gothel in her head, until, one day, it wasn’t too soon.

She’d find her way out of the tower. She’d done it once before. (As long as she had Eugene by her side, and watching her back, it felt like – painfully, achingly, truly – anything was possible.)


End file.
